


The Princess and the Hunter

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mild Language, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:23:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request: "Nerdy, she's at con dressed up as a queen of some kind, Dean/Reader, and she's on a hunt and yes fluffy smut/or just smut lol. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and the Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, okay. Confession: I totes had a thing for Xena when I was younger. And I totally know Dean would, too. I hope you forgive me for using this Warrior Princess instead of a queen. <3

"Are you kidding me, Sam? How'd we get stuck with this?"

Dean griped as he squeezed between another clogged artery of a hall stuffed full of nerds in full costume. The convention was full to bursting. Hell, even the stairs and bathrooms were stuffed with people.

There were thousands of different costumes here; Game of Thrones, Harry Potter, comic book characters, tv show and movie characters...It all made Dean's head ache. Not to mention just how freaking loud it was.

There was never a minute of silence. Every once in a while, voices would blare over hidden sound systems to announce certain events or 'photo ops'.

Dean and Sam had caught wind of a possible vengeful spirit causing nasty deaths in the local convention center. It'd started out with the drowning of a janitor in a bathroom stall and progressed to a night-worker being strung up from the rafters in an unoccupied room. Dean wanted this thing wrapped up fast, before anyone else got ganked.

He had to say, though. Not all of the costumes were bad. Some were downright awesome.

There were some great-looking armor suits and holy hell, a few storm troopers. And the girls...spandex and superhero capes could do _wonders_.

"Dean-" Sam muttered, jerking on his brother's suit jacket.

Dean dragged his eyes away from a particularly unique Cat-woman and grunted.

"Yeah?"

Sam's patented face of displeasure was way less fun too look at. "We're working, Dean."

"Dude, we've questioned all of the staff and watched the security videos. No way in hell is EMF gonna work in here with all of the nerdy-techno-crap. We've done all we can do. We'll come back tonight and case it."

Dean nodded at a young woman dressed as Princess Leia. "Now, I don't know about you, but-"

Sam's hand smacked into Dean's shoulder sharply. "Dean."

"What now?" Sam turned slightly. "That girl over there, the one with the warrior get-up." He jerked his chin over his shoulder.

Dean glanced behind him.

 _Holy shit_.

He took in the long legs and short leather-pleated skirt. The cleavage-baring armor top and defined, faintly scarred skin. Long dark hair swirled around slim shoulders as she strode across the floor.

"Dude. That Xena, Warrior Princess. _Dude_." Dean whispered.

His palms grew sweaty as he watched her stop abruptly. Her head swung and then he was stared down. Those eyes...There was something about them. Well, there was something about everything with this one.

Jesus, Dean had always dug Xena, but seeing her in the flesh was a whole other thing.

Sam was talking. "No. I know who she's dressed as. But, her, Dean. We've seen her somewhere before."

Xena turned and began walking towards them. And God help him, Dean was more turned on by the way the woman walked; long, purposeful strides, than any porn he'd watched in the past week. And that was saying something.

Sam pulled at Dean's arm and began hurrying away. Xena wasn't having any of that, though. She lunged across the remaining distance and snagged at their sleeves.

"Hey!"

"Um, can we help you, miss?" Sam was all smooth-agent.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you try and pull the FBI agent shit, I know who you are."

Dean's mind immediately went on red-alert. "You-You know us? You?"

 

The lighter-haired hunter's eyes swept up and down your form.

Your emotion and instinct warred. Half of you wanted to punch him square in the nose for ogling you so blatantly. The other half wanted to ogle him right back before jumping him.

With a mental shake, you reminded yourself that you were working.

"Yes, agent, I know you. Now, come on, follow me. We need to talk and I'm not gonna do it with so many ears around." You gave them no choice but to follow you.

An old friend had called you into town. Well, he was a little more than an old friend. But, that'd been years ago.

He'd known that ghosts and the things that bumped in the night were your game. When the docile moving-things-around-the-room and casper act had turned into a murder spree, he'd given you a call.

Cons were fun. You liked the vibe and the ability to relax into your true personailty. Lore had always been your favorite part of the job. It was only sensical that you'd drifted over in comic books and fantasy. So, after a particularly nasty hunt, you'd decided to take a risk and start cosplaying in your free time.

Hell, every hunter had a secret or two. Your's was this. And it was fun...mildly practical as well. The sword and chakram at your waist were silver and consecrated iron. The metal studs and armor were the same material on your cosplay. The outfit was surprisingly easy to move in. The skirt allowed for free movement and for once, you didn't have to cover all of your scars. You did, however, have to sport a wig.

You strode down the hall, hitting the stairs and descending them at a brisk clip. The halls down here were empty of people. Caution tape was webbed across the walls ahead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Rick's chipper voice grated at your ears a little.

The tall man came into view. He was dressed in his security uniform, black-clad gangly limbs giving him the appearance of a humanoid spider. Thick-framed glasses sat on his nose a little crooked. His dark hair was ruffled like he'd just rolled from bed. Though thin and vaguely dorky, Rick always managed to look attractive in his own unique way. Kind of like a more monochromatic Spider-man.

"Hey, Rick. How's tricks?"

His brown eyes blinked behind his glasses. "Well, there's been minimal activity. Every once in a while one of the EMF's will spike randomly. _Oh_."

Rick had just caught sight of your companions. "W-who are they?"

You reached up and patted Rick's shoulder. "Hey, Rick, why don't you be a sweetheart and run out to my car? I think I left my bag in my trunk."

"Oh, sure! I'll be right back!" Rick scampered off, climbing the stairs two at a time.

You shot a glance over your shoulder. "All right. Rick'll be gone for at least half an hour. I set him on a wild goose chase."

"Beanpole's on a wild goose chase?"

You ducked beneath the caution tape and wandered down the hall. "I own a Harley."

"I bet you do."

You could feel those damn green eyes burning a hole through your skirt. With a quiet click, the doors to the murder scene swung wide.

"Shut up. This is the latest kill spot. They found the guy hanging from up there." You pointed at the ceiling.

"You said you knew us."

 

The chick was hot.

And smart. Dean loved the combination. Added to the fact that she was obviously a hunter...And he was gone.

It was now is mission to make certain he got to see how Xena looked under all that armor. She turned slowly, eyes glinting in the low light.

"You worked with my dad once. Winchesters, right? Sam and Dean."

Sam carefully nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Come to think of it, your dad showed me a picture of you. You have the same eyes."

Dean shrugged. "Sorry. No bell's ringing, Xena."

Her brow furrowed. "It's Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

Leave it to Sam to remember someone because of their eyes. He wanted to snort at the corniness.

"How's your old man, anyway?" Sam asked.

All traces of emotion slipped from her face. "He died. Demon back in Chicago."

"I'm sorry. He was a good guy. Saved mine and Dean's ass once."

She shrugged. "It's fine. Anyway. Rick called me a few days ago with the case. It started out as basic Casper stuff. Furniture being moved, lights flickering sometimes, weird noises. Then, the week before the con, janitor was drowned. The day after opening, our hang-man was found."

Sam sniffed the air, frowning. "That smell-"

"Ozone," Y/N supplied, crossing her arms.

The tiny action made her breasts press together. Dean stifled a groan.

"The whole bottom floor reeks of the stuff. We've got one hell of a powerful spook. I set EMF's in every room. I've been able to track its movements through them. Whenever spook's home, the things set off. Spook leaves, they go quiet. It's too jumbled on the con floor, though. Believe me, I tried."

 _Smart_.

Sam examined the length of electrical wiring that dangled from the ceiling. "What's the history?"

"Nothing that screams 'vengeful spirit'. An accidental death during the building process was the only one I could find. He checks out, though. Summoned his spirit last night. No dice."

"Huh." Sam turned, picking up the EMF that was tucked behind a table. "You make this?"

Y/N slowly nodded. "I did. And it's perfectly accurate."

Dean raised his brows. "I bet you made your get-up to, right?"

Those brilliant eyes pinned him. "Damn right I did. Of course, I added a few little flairs of my own."

Her fingers brushed over the armor and studs. "Iron and silver. My chakram and sword are genuine, too. My cos isn't all statement pieces, Dean."

A sort of thrill wound through him at the sound of his name on her lips.

God, he wanted to hear her sigh it, moan it, scream it.

 

 

After scouring the bottom floor together, the Winchesters had cordially invited you back to their motel room to brush up on research.

You'd hesitated. Yeah, your pops had worked with them in the past. They seemed nice enough and knew their stuff. But it was kinda hard to keep your A-game on with Dean around.

The hunter was simply sinful. From the way his eyes caught the light to the way his lips quirked whenever you threw a jab his way. He was broad-shouldered and built solidly, like a warrior. His light hair was ruffled carelessly, his strong jaw shadowed with a hint of scruff. He moved with upmost confidence, an almost predatory amble. Oh, yes. Dean Winchester was one hell of a distraction.

In the convention center's restroom, you changed out of your cos. First to go was your wig, bobby pins and net carefully bagged seperately. Wearing cos was fun, but you were always happy to slip back into your worn jeans, cotton t-shirt, and leather jacket. After lacing up your boots, you zipped up your bag and slung the canvas strap over your shoulder.

Dean was staring longingly at the food court area when you emerged from the restroom. You knew how he felt. You would've killed for a cheeseburger right then.

"Hey, Y/N, you set?" Sam leaned away from his post against the wall.

And there went Dean, eyes giving you the thrice-over from head to toes. He must've liked what he saw because he swallowed thickly and had a hard time dragging his gaze to your face. Maybe, if you played your cards right...

"Um, yeah." You hiked your bag a little higher on your shoulders. "Let's get going."

"Hey, we passed a diner on the way in, you wanna stop and grab something with us?" Dean asked.

Your stomach let out a plaintive growl at the mention of food. "Sure, why not? It's the one with the neon outside? Birds-eye, right?"

"You know it?" Dean sounded a little surprised.

"Well, you could say that. Come on, I bet you a beer my Harley'll beat whatever you're driving."

Dean's eyes lit up. "You're on!"

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered something about being childish.

Both you and Dean sent him an answering glare.

In the parking lot, you straddled the Nightster you'd called your's since you'd been fourteen. She was a work of art, all sleek black lines and feral-looking chrome highlights. You jammed your helmet over your head and listened to her engine growl.

Wind nipped at the bare skin of your neck and wrists as you flew down the road. This was freedom. Nothing but you, the wind, and the sound of the engine in your ears. The parking lot of the diner was pretty empty since the con was still in full swing this early in the evening. You pulled into a spot and had just settled the kickstand down when a sleek black car rumbled into the space beside your's.

The vehicle nearly took your breath away. She was like the Mona Lisa made of metal. An Impala, late 1960's by the look. Dean slid out of the driver's side, adjusting his suit jacket. You removed your helmet and strapped it into the saddlebags.

"Guess you're buying beer tonight, eh?" You glanced over into the passenger side. "Where's Sam?"

"He decided to hit the books, the geek."

Oh. Well. Warmth tingled in your belly. You frowned at yourself.

 _Get a grip_. _Xena would not be nervous to share dinner with a hunter_.

"His loss, I've been told I'm a fantastic conversationalist." You opened the diner's door.

Bells chimed as the sounds of old fifties' music floated over the air. The floor was checked tile in white and black. Chrome shone on every available edge; from tables, booths, chairs and stools to the kitchen window and bathroom signs. It was like a physical slap of nostalgia.

"God, nothing's changed here." You muttered.

"Hi there! Just take a seat and Sherri will be right with you!" The girl behind the register was barely out of her teens by the looks of her. Blonde hair was pinned behind one ear with a red bobby-pin. Her lipstick matched the color to a T.

You slid into a booth and kicked your boots onto the seat opposite. Dean gave the dusty heels a pointed glance.

"Your manners need some polishing, Xena."

" _Ha ha_ ," You snorted.

No sooner than you'd straightened up and set your bag at your feet did the waitress appear.

"Hi! My name's Sherri and I'll- Y/N, is that _you_?"

You glanced up from the table.

The woman, Sherri, had a familiar face. Granted, it was a little more lined than the last time you'd seen it. But her blue eyes were the same. She gave you a big smile and fluttered her thin hands over your hair.

"My God, girl! Look at you, all grown up! Last time I saw you, you still braided your hair and wore those baggy clothes. Now look at you! And my, who's this?"

Dean had seemed to be enjoying your reaction to the sudden attention until it was turned onto him. He leaned back slightly, lips parting.

"Ah, I'm-I'm just a family friend."

You nodded vigorously when Sherri raised her brows at you for conformation.

"We're in town for the convention," You muttered.

"Oh! You and Rick always liked those comic books!"

At the mention of comic books, Dean seemed to perk up. His eyes took on a mischievous glint.

"So, um, Sherri we should catch up later." You forced the words out before Dean could go picking at your past.

"Oh, absolutely, sweetheart! But you two didn't come in here to listen to my prattling. What can I getcha?"

"Cheeseburger, medium well, extra cheese with as many fries as you can get away with. And a beer." You added on.

Sherri scribbled down the order and turned to Dean. "And what about you, handsome?"

He gave her a winning smile. "I'll have the same, thanks."

"All right! I'll be right back with your beers in a jiffy!" The woman sidled off before returning with two beers.

Thankfully, a crowd had descended onto the restaurant.

Dean took a healthy swig of his drink and leaned back. "So...You've been holding out."

You spun your bottle between your hands. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Come on, Xena, give it up."

Your lips eased up into a reluctant smile. "Fine. You wanna know? My dad and I settled down for a few months here. I made a...friend. Rick. We, um, dated. He was the one who got me into comics."

You picked at the label of your beer. "After a few weeks and a run-in with a werewolf, I was kinda forced into telling him about what me and my dad did for a living. He took it reasonably well. But, then, my dad got the call from one of his buddies and we packed up the next day. I haven't been back here since."

"You dated the beanpole?" Dean sounded at a loss for words.

"Yes. Why? Is that so hard to believe?"

He raised a hand, gesturing toward you. "Well, you're...You're hot. And he..."

You laughed a little. "Rick's a nerd. Yeah. When I showed up in town, I was fourteen and rode a Harley. I got cornered in the hallway after one of the seniors tried to take a ride. Needless to say, a hunter's kid isn't something you mess with. Rick was really the only person that treated me like I wasn't some sort of freak."

 

 

"Huh."

Dean studied Y/N across the table. Her hands never stopped moving; they spun her bottle, tapped on the table-top, drew patterns in the wet spot of condensation. A few locks of hair fell over her eyes before she'd carelessly swipe them back.

He couldn't picture her as anything but how she was; a hunter whose body was flecked with scars, quick intelligence flicking behind her eyes, hair wild and disheveled from her helmet and fingers. The black leather jacket she wore made the white of her t-shirt glow against her skin. She looked every bit as much a warrior in her frayed jeans and motorcycle boots as she had in full Xena regalia. And he'd be damned if that all didn't turn him on.

Sherri reappeared suddenly, plates in hand. The waitress set them down with a quick smile.

"More beer?"

Y/N glanced up, pulling her food toward herself. "Please."

Dean reached for the ketchup bottle at the same time she did. Their hands brushed, fingers bumping together. Her hands were warm and a little rough across the knuckles. She jerked back a little too quickly, knocking into the salt shaker.

A faint flush of color tinged her cheeks prettily. Dean found himself stuck staring at her with his hand half-wrapped around the ketchup bottle.

"Here ya go!" The reappearance of Sherri had them both jumping guiltily.

"Thanks," Dean muttered.

She moved off to her other tables, leaving him with Y/N again.

Y/N had grabbed up the salt and was shaking it over her fries. She cleared her throat delicately and crooked a finger for the ketchup.

"You gonna use that or what, Dean?"

Damn it.

His name rolled off her lips and had him shifting on his seat. He handed over the red plastic container. Y/N squeezed a large pool onto her plate. She paused, then added more.

Dean snorted. "You want food with that ketchup, or-"

She smiled again, lips easing up and teeth flashing against pinked lips. "Shut up."

At her first bite of burger, she emitted a sound that nearly had Dean coming undone.

 _Jesus Christ_ , if she made that sort of noise from eating food, what would she sound like in bed?

But when he'd gotten a mouthful of the burger, he totally got where she was coming from.

Y/N grinned, licking a dollop of ketchup from her fingertip.

"The food hasn't changed at all since I left, though. I used to come in here when pops was too busy to..." She let her words trail off.

Dean knew what she meant. His father had often disappeared for weeks at a time on hunts. He'd leave food sometimes, or cash. Dean had managed to fend for himself and Sam for the most part. But sometimes his father seemed to forget about his sons even when he was present.

Y/N shrugged and pushed a fry between her lips. "So. Anyway. Vengeful spirit. Like I said, no dice on the only death that was recorded. I went back into the archives as far back as possible and there's nothing else. No possibilities whatsoever. You think maybe it could be attached to something?"

Dean's mind whirred as he ate and listened. Something clicked in the back of his head.

"What if the death was never recorded?"

Her nose crinkled in thought as she chewed. "Like a missing person or something? That might be something, actually. Hold on."

She bent, half-disappearing beneath the table as she rifled through her bag. When she came up, her cheeks were a little flushed and her hair mussed.

She set a black laptop down on the table-top and cracked the lid open. The thing whirred as her fingers tapped over the keys. Her lip tucked between her teeth as she concentrated.

"Records, records, records," She chanted softly.

Dean popped a few fries into his mouth.

"Hmm, here's something." Y/N pushed her plate to the side slightly. "Missing persons report from 1997. Seventeen-year-old boy by the name of Freddy Greenia. He was supposed to catch the bus home and never showed up for dinner. Never found a trace of him."

She sat back, hand shoving through her hair. "Freddy Greenia...I've heard the name somewhere before...Where the hell have I heard the name before?"

With a snap of her fingers, she made a 'duh' noise. " _Of course_! I should have seen in before!"

Her fingers clicked rapidly over the keys again.

"Care to share?" Dean asked as he wiped his hands on a napkin.

"When I was here, the local kids had a story that the convention center was haunted by a ghost named Freddy. Word was, if you stuck around after dark he'd come out and play."

"Think it could be true?"

Y/N nodded absently. "Maybe. Says here it was the last place he was seen. Huh. It also says that...A few kids were questioned. The local bullies, looks like. All of them had the exact same story. Down to the last detail. Little odd, don't you think?"

Her eyes flipped up from the screen.

Dean sat back. "You think they had something to do with it?"

"Oh, yeah." She grabbed a napkin and pulled a sharpie from her bag. "These are the names of the kids they questioned. I ran them through local records and got their current addresses. The ones that still live here anyway. And are kicking. Come to find out, the two murders at the center are old pals of Freddy."

Y/N slid the napkin across the table to Dean. "You and Sam go talk with the families. I'm gonna go see if I can rassle me up some bones."

"Wait, you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Dean felt a little weird letting her go off on her own, especially when they weren't one-hundred-percent sure what they were dealing with here.

The words earned him a spectacular eye-roll. "I'm a big girl, Dean. I've hunted worse on my own and come out on top. Pretty sure I can handle a pissy Casper by my lonesome until we figure out the rest."

Dean read over the names and came across a phone number scrolled across the bottom of the napkin. "What's the number down here?"

Y/N shoved the last bite of her burger into her mouth and snatched up her bag. She dropped a few bills onto the table as she swallowed.

"My cell." With a cheeky wink and a two-finger salute, she was out the door.

Sherri appeared at Dean's elbow. Her greying hair wisped around her face as she picked up the plates.

"She's quite the little whirlwind, Y/N is."

Dean watched as the sleek black motorcycle roared onto the road with a small figure atop it. "Yeah. She really is."

 

 

The convention center was mostly empty except for the odd janitor and security guard when you arrived.

You snuck down the stairs to the lower level, drawing an EMF meter from your pocket. Your flashlight beam bounced off the walls of empty halls and rooms. The dim yellow and red lighting of emergency lighting left small pools of color over doors.

It was eerily quiet down here. Ten doors and rooms down, you were running out of places to hide a body.

Then, with a sudden series of electronic squeals, the EMF went off. As a test, you walked a little farther. The lights went dark and silence reigned. A few steps back and the thing went nuts again.

 _Ah, ha_.

You pushed the door wide and stepped inside. The beam of the flashlight illuminated nothing of consequence. Just random tools for rennovation and repair. You stepped farther into the room, examining every inch of the place.

Something caught your eye as you turned. Your fingers skimmed over the chipped plaster of the wall to where something reflected back at you. Your pocket knife clicked open with a quick flick of your thumb. Dust and loose chunks of wall peppered the floor as you dug at the tiny hole. When you'd widened the space to the size of your face, you stepped back. The loose dust made you sneeze.

You lifted your flashlight and shone the beam into the hole. _What was_...?

A pair of cracked glasses caught the light as they perched atop a concave nose. "Oh, you're kidding me."

A guitar riff shattered the quiet and had you near jumping out of your skin. The screen of your phone displayed an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N, how's the hunt going? Find any piece-y-parts yet?" Dean's voice came across the line a little staticky.

You laughed a little breathlessly. "Yep. Our friend's part of the wall in Hall F."

"We just finished with the last guy. They all admitted to doing the deed. Said it was only a routine beat-up behind the bleachers that went South. They walled him up in the new convention center so no one would ever find out what they did."

The EMF meter squealed deafeningly, little lights shorting out. "Oh, _hell_."

"What?" Dean's voice abruptly became deadly serious.

You let out a long breath, watching it mist in the air before your face. "I've got company."

There was the sound of an engine accelerating from the other line. "Sam and I are close. Three minutes out."

Something smashed into the back of your legs, sending you toppling to the floor. You grunted, maintainingly hold of the phone as you pulled your gun from your boot. A blurry outline lurched towards you. You cocked and fired.

The ghost vanished with a hissing noise. "Hurry your ass up, Dean."

Cold air whispered against your neck. You rolled, coming up firing. Another wail was earned. But your phone was knocked from your hand.

Quiet reigned and then, without warning, something wrenched the gun away from your hands. A blow was rendered to your belly, doubling you over.

"Fuck!" You snatched the iron knife from your belt and slashed outward, earning angry yowl.

"Ha, take that you douche!"

"Y/N!" Dean's voice echoed off the walls down the hall.

You lunged for the door, barely making it out before a blast of cold air blew by.

"Here! Body's in the wall!"

Your head cracked back against the wall before you shoved your knife into Freddy's side. The ghost howled, flickering out.

"Burn 'im, I'll keep 'im busy!" You sprinted down the hall. "Come get me you pretentious nerd!"

 

 

Dean watched Y/N vanish down the hall.

There was a loud clatter and then an eery yowl. Sam made a startled noise at his side.

"Is she for real?"

Dean grinned. "Isn't she great?"

"Come on, Dean, salt 'n' burn. Remember?" Sam pushed the green bag into his brother's arms.

When Dean entered the room, Sam was busy taking a chair to the wall. Plaster dust flew up in pale eddies. With a dull thud, the body of Freddy Greenia dropped from its resting place.

"Ya know, Freddy, there's a right way and a wrong way to get revenge. I get where you're coming from, but this is the wrong way." Y/N's voice sounded strained as it carried.

"Hurry up, you two!"

Sam dumped gasoline over the corpse as Dean shook the jug of salt vigorously. The matches rasped. Fire sprang up with a muffled _whoosh_.

Smoke quickly filled the room, sending them coughing into the hallway.

"Y/N?" Dean called.

A shape stumbled through the thickening haze. Alarms began ringing. Y/N bent over, hands on her knees as she wheezed.

"Exit's that way." She hiked a thumb toward the dim glow of red.

The air outside was cool and clean.

They leaned against the wall for a minute as they caught their breath. Y/N knocked Dean's shoulder with her's.

"Holy shit. That was _fun_."

Sam made a choking noise. "Fun? You almost got your ass kicked by a ghost."

"Sorry, adrenaline junkie." Y/N laughed, rubbing her hands over her face.

Holy shit. She was goddamned perfect. The woman literally laughed in the face of danger.

Sam leaned away from the wall. "We need to get out of here before the firetrucks show up."

"Y/N, you headed out of town that the job is done?" Dean asked as he fished the keys to the Impala from his pocket.

She slung one leg over her bike, retrieving her helmet from one of the bags strapped to the bike. "Not tonight. Why?"

Her cheeks were flushed and there was a tiny scratch over one of her eyes. Her hair hung wild around her face. Standing over the motorcycle with one hand curled over the handles, she looked like a hunter-version of a pin-up girl. Those brilliant eyes flickered in the darkness as her head tilted slightly.

Slowly, her lips eased up into a sultry smile. "Say, Winchester, you wanna ride?"

She reached back and patted the seat beneath her. Dean gave her a crooked grin.

"You have no idea."

Sam made a disgusted noise from the other side of the Impala. Dean tossed him the keys to the car.

"See ya later, Sam. Don't wait up for me."

The bike's engine growled to life as the Impala left the parking lot. Y/N drew a spare helmet from the saddlebags and held it out to him. She straddled the slim body and tossed him a questioning glance over her shoulder.

"You coming or not?"

"I don't get to drive?"

She laughed. "Not on your life!"

 

 

Dean's body settled behind you.

His arms slipped beneath your's and wrapped around your waist. His knees pressed against the sides of your thighs. With a growl of the engine, the bike shot forward. The tarmac spun beneath the wheels as wind tugged at your jacket.

Making sure the road was clear, you twisted the throttle and leaned into the wind. You couldn't hear Dean's laughter, but his chest shook against your back. Behind your helmet, you allowed yourself a wide grin.

Too soon, you pulled over into an abandoned parking lot. The engine idled, purring contentedly. You tugged your helmet off and turned to check on your passenger. Dean swung his leg over the bike, long fingers curled around the edge of his helmet. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes shone. Those sinful lips were crooked up in a broad smile.

"Holy hell, that was amazing. I haven't had that much fun in..God, I can't even remember."

You couldn't help but giggle at his boyish enthusiasm. He looked so goddamn alive and warm and so unbearably magnetic in that moment.

Before you realized, you were leaning up and pressing your lips to his. They were warm, every bit as soft as they'd looked. He tasted faintly like whiskey and mint. There was a moment in which the world stood still.

Then, Dean made a hot noise in the back of his throat. His free hand came up and cradled your jaw before sliding back to tangle in your hair. His tongue crept out and slicked across your lower lip.

The kiss quickly devolved into a hot tangle of lips and tongue as hands roamed. Your blood fairly boiled. You'd never wanted..Needed someone so badly in your life. God, he could have taken you right there in the empty parking lot beneath the sky and you wouldn't have bothered to stop him. But Dean pulled back, one arm slung around your hips and his fingers tracing circles against your scalp.

His breath tickled your swollen lips. "Baby, I think we should move this somewhere more comfortable."

His voice was huskier, the sound beyond pleasing.

You slipped from his grasp and straddled the bike again. "Your room or mine?"

"Your's." Dean settled himself behind you again.

His fingers eased up beneath the hem of your leather jacket to tease the skin he bared. The wheels kicked up loose gravel.

 

 

The tiny motel's room door flew open beneath Y/N's hands.

Dean had her up against the entry way wall in the next second. She gasped, bag dropping from her fingers and falling to the floor with a muted thud. Her hands came up and shoved at the collar of his coat. He let the canvas slip from his shoulders before pinching the zipper to her jacket between his fingers. The dark leather was tossed aside as her nails ran over his scalp.

Her lips moved so good with his. Soft, hot, her tongue and teeth adding to the perfection. Her breath came in tiny little pants and gasps. One of her legs came up, thigh hitching at his hip. One of her hands tugged at the hem of his shirt.

They separated for a minute, clothes thrown carelessly over the floor and chairs before coming back together in a tangle of limbs. Dean let himself be pushed back toward the bed. He fell back when Y/N pushed at his shoulders. She crawled over his legs and straddled his hips.

The sight of her rising over him in her plain panties and bra had his cock hardening to all new proportions. Heat seared through his veins as she bent, sealing her lips over his throat. One of her slim hands skimmed down his ribs, stomach, before teasing the skin above his boxers. Dean groaned, hands palming at her ass. A sultry laugh purred from her throat before her teeth nipped at his shoulder. That hand dipped beneath the elastic band.

" _Fuck_."

Dean's hips bucked up as her hand wrapped around his length and pumped experimentally. God, if she didn't ease up soon...

With a growl, he tugged her up by her shoulders and brought his mouth to her's again. Y/N gasped into his mouth, fingers clutching at his arms. Dean didn't slow his conquest. Her bra was tossed God-knew-where and then he bent, licking a stripe up her neck. She made a noise that had his cock twitching and his blood singing. He bent farther, sealing his lips around one pouting nipple.

His hands slipped into the back of her panties, sliding the offending material away as he cupped her ass.

 

 

You were positively burning up.

Dean's hand had slowly transferred from your ass to your hip and was currently grinding against your clit. Holy shit, the hunter was too fucking good at this. One long finger eased inside of you and you couldn't hold back your moan.

"Dean," You gasped against his neck. "Please."

He groaned, rolling away and reaching for his jeans. You took the moment of time to finish removing your panties. The cotton material had tangled around your knees. Foil ripped behind you.

Hot, roughened hands stroked up your back in long, lazy swipes. You leaned back into the touch with a sigh. Dean's jaw brushed against your cheek as he bent and suckled a kiss to the soft place where your throat joined your shoulder. The scruff on his skin scraped deliciously.

You slipped your hand behind your back and let your fingers trace down his belly. You took him in hand, aligning him with your entrance. When he pushed inside, you both groaned. Dean's head fell forward, resting against your neck as your's kicked back to his shoulder. Your thighs rested on the outside of his. One of his hands slipped around your front.

" _Dean_!"

One long, roughened finger circled your clitoris. Your body trembled as his hips jerked beneath your's. Hot breath gusted over sweat-slicked skin. The only sounds in the room were those of skin meeting and the sounds of his pleasure and your's. Dean pressed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and jaw.

He felt beyond exquisite. No one, not ever, had ever made you feel this...

 

 _Holy shit_.

Y/N felt so damn good around him, over him, on him.

The sounds she made were better than he'd imagined. Hot moans and needy cries that spurred him to move his hips faster, harder. Her arms lifted, hands carding through his hair as she tugged him to her mouth for a kiss. Sharp teeth nipped lightly at his lip before she soothed her tongue over the slight sting.

Her breaths came faster and she pushed back against him with a whimper.

" _Dean_!"

Dean groaned as he felt her orgasm overtake her. Her body trembled in his arms, head kicking back onto his shoulder. Her sex clamped down, milking at him. With a harsh noise, he felt his hips stutter, felt control slip from his grasp.

"Y/N, shit! _Fuck_!"

Pleasure fairly exploded, rendering him a mess of heat raw nerves. As he came back down, he pressed shaky kisses to every inch of her skin he could reach. Each little swirl of his tongue had her shaking with aftershocks.

Dean smiled wolfishly as she let herself lean back against his chest.

Those brilliant eyes fluttered open. "That was... _Wow_."

"Not bad for a lowly hunter, huh, Xena?" Dean teased, nipping at her earlobe.

That earned him a playful smack to his thigh. "I prefer 'your highness'."

Dean let out a low growl against her ear as he let his hands wander. "Well, _your highness_ , I'll pay tribute to you any time."


End file.
